


Mermaids

by chileancarmenere



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-27
Updated: 2013-07-27
Packaged: 2017-12-21 09:42:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/898799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chileancarmenere/pseuds/chileancarmenere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Pirates only care about a small number of very specific things: the sea, strong drink, and booty. Both kinds.” – Isabela </p><p>Isabela only loved one man before Hawke, but it destroyed him in the end. </p><p>Written for the Dragon Age Reverse Big Bang, inspired by janie-mcpants' Isabela fanmix.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A memory:

_Gather round, and hear ye a story._

_On an island, far from Llomerryn, there lived a woman. She loved the ocean beyond anything else, and more than anything she wished to become a mermaid and live in the ocean. The island was green and fruitful, but it seemed barren and harsh to her when she compared it with the misty salt spray and blue-green deeps of the water. The people of the island thought her mad, and all shunned her, but she didn’t care. She spent her days sitting on the rocks of the shore and hoping, wishing._

_It so happened that a magic woman lived on the island. She was reputed to be a water witch, a woman whose magic was rooted in the ocean itself. But no one went to see her. She lived across a dangerous rocky bridge, where the waters were fierce and lashed at the bridge again and again, carrying off anyone that dared try to cross. So although the islanders believed she could cause anyone’s deepest wishes to come true, they all valued their lives as they were too much to go and see her._

_The woman who loved the ocean, however, desired to become a mermaid so much that she decided it was worth braving the dangers of the rock bridge to go see the water witch. After all, if she died, she would die in the salt water’s embrace, and what better grave than that? Thus the woman began the journey to the northern end of the isle. She reached the shore where the rocky bridge extended far across the water. A storm was raging, and the wind and rain lashed at her till her clothes were soaked against her skin. She plucked up her courage and started to cross the bridge. The wind was worse across the water, and it tore at her and screamed at her till she thought she would fall from the sound alone. But she was brave, and made her way across the rock bridge till at last she came to the cave where the water witch lived. She stood outside and called to the water witch. “O water witch, I have come to see you, to have my deepest desire fulfilled.”_

_There was no reply, but a flickering light appeared in the cave’s depths. She walked towards it. At the back of the cave, there was a driftwood fire, licks of blue appearing amongst the flames. Across the fire from her, a shape was slumped against the rock wall. At the woman’s approach, the shape rose, straightened, and the woman caught her first sight of the water witch. The witch’s hair was a black so dark that it appeared blue, and she was clad in seaweed strips. Her eyes were dark iron grey, like the surface of the sea in a storm._

_“You are brave, to come see me so.” The water witch’s voice was rough._

_“I love the sea,” the woman said, haltingly. “I wish to become a mermaid and live in it forever. I cannot bear my life without the sea.”_

_“What are you willing to give up for this?”_

_“Anything! I will give up anything.”_

_The water witch looked at the woman for a long time. Whatever she saw must have convinced her, because she rose and went to a dark corner of the cave, where the fire’s light did not reach. When she came back, she was carrying a dagger._

_“I will believe you, when you say you will give up anything. But I don’t believe that you know what you mean when you say you will give up anything. If you truly wish to become a mermaid, this dagger will make it so. But it is not my magic that will make you a mermaid. You must wield this dagger yourself.”_

_The woman wondered at the witch’s words, but she agreed to use the dagger. “Do not be so fast to agree, when you do not know what you must do for it.” The witch angled the dagger to catch the light. In the firelight, the woman saw many scratches along the dagger’s blade. “You must change yourself to become a mermaid. Using this dagger, you must cut off your legs. In their place, a mermaid’s tail will grow. You must cut off your fingers, and in their place a mermaid’s webbed hands will grow. And you must cut out your tongue, and instead cut gills in your neck.”_

_The woman quailed at the thought. “But I shall bleed to death.”_

_“No, you won’t. This dagger is magic, and although it will be painful beyond belief, if you do as I have said, you will become a mermaid.”_

_The woman considered it. She had spent years upon years in pain, dying to be free of the land and free to roam the ocean forever. Would not pain now be worth it, to be free? She put out her hand for the dagger. “I will do as you have said. What do you want, in return for this dagger?”_

_The witch pressed it into her hand. “I want nothing for it. It is magic I do not have a use for.”_

_The woman faltered. “But…isn’t there something you would change yourself for?”_

_The water witch smiled a little. “Perhaps there is, but I have decided for myself that the change is not worth it.”_

_The islanders that lived on the northern shores heard scream after scream echoing from across the rocky bridge. They shook their heads at each other, in sorrow and a private fear. As the screams ceased, they peered across the bridge, but the storm raged just as fiercely as ever. Only the keen-eared among them heard a splash, as though something heavy had fallen into the ocean._

_The water witch had not lied about the pain, but the woman did indeed become a mermaid. Her tail was glossy and strong, and her gills let her breathe underwater. The phantom pain of her missing limbs lingered on, however. The water was cold, and the sunlight came to her only as filtered, broken crystals. She thought of the island, and remembered the sweet fruits and warm sands. Now she could not remember why she thought the island such a prison, when the ocean was so vast and cold and comfortless._

_Go to the ocean tonight, and listen. If you are very quiet, you can hear sobbing in the waves as they break upon the shores. That is the sound of the mermaid, crying for the choice she made and the land she is unable to return to._


	2. Chapter 2

The bar was clogged with smoke, and the few candles weren’t nearly enough to illuminate the patrons beyond dim outlines. That suited Isabela just fine; the man she was looking for was distinguishable from his outline alone, and she wasn’t particularly interested in others knowing that she was here. Llomerryn was a good place for that; a city on the sea where you could fade into the thick crowds and hide out in the open.

Her first mate, Casavir, laid a hand on her shoulder. “Straight to your right.”

Isabela turned, and the distinctive profile of Ianto was visible in the darkness. Years ago, someone had cut off his hand, so he replaced it with a real pirate hook. Sharp as a honed blade, too. As the story went, Ianto had pursued the man who had cut off his hand, and had used his hook hand to slice off both the man’s hands. They started calling him Talon shortly thereafter, or the Terror of Llomerryn, depending on who you talked to.

As she approached, Ianto turned his head and spotted her. “Ah, Isabela. The Queen of the Eastern Seas.”

Someone behind him sniggered. Isabela ignored that. “Ianto. A little bird told me to find you here.”

“Yes.” The raider stretched his one hand before him, examining his fingernails. He tsked and ran the tip of his hook under the nail, delicate as an artist painting an eyelash. “I’d been meaning to talk to you. We’ve been watching you.”

“Hope you like what you’ve been seeing.”

“Oh, I do.” He smirked. “Thing is, sweetheart, you’re pirating in the Armada’s territory. That was just fine and dandy when you were snagging fishing boats, but that last one? An Orlesian treasure ship? Ser Tadeus isn’t happy about that one.”

“So let Tadeus talk to me about it.” Isabela drew one of her daggers, tossing it up and down. The two men behind her took the hint and drew their own blades.

Ianto put up his hands (in a manner of speaking). “Easy, sweetheart. Tadeus might not be happy, but he’s impressed. It looks as though _Queen of the Eastern Seas_ isn’t just bragging.”

Isabela laughed. “Oh, it’s bragging all right. It’s not hot air, if that’s what you meant.”

“Indeed not,” he said silkily. “You’ve got a ship and a crew, and you obviously know how to use them both. Tadeus proposes that you join the Felicisima Armada. Just half of what that treasure ship was carrying, and that’s all the Armada wants as an entry fee.”

“Don’t insult me, Ianto. You’re going to spoil my sunny mood. Ten percent is what you’re getting.”

They eventually bargained it down to twenty percent, which was twenty percent more of the cargo than Isabela had wanted to lose, but the protection of the Felicisima Armada, loose as it was, was worth it. To seal the bargain, Isabela and Ianto both cut their hands and let a little blood drip into a beaker of rum. Isabela slammed down half of it in one go and Ianto drank the rest. The raider tapped his hook against the back of Isabela’s hand. “I look forward to sailing with you, Queen of the Eastern Seas.”

“Idiot,” she muttered to Casavir on the way out. Her first mate glanced back. “Think he’s going to double-cross us?”

“He wasn’t born yesterday. The last thing Ianto or Tadeus wants is a raider in the Armada who isn’t friendly to either of them. Still, though, can’t hurt to be in with them. At the very least, merchants will be paying us now…” She trailed off as a shadow detached from Ianto’s table and moved fluidly along the wall, heading towards the same door as them. “There we go. Ishmal, double back. First sign of trouble and knife him.” The man nodded and melted away from them.

Isabela pretended to not see the man, walking confidently towards the door. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him closing in. Ten feet…five…she reached down carefully and wrapped her fingers around the stiletto she kept in the hidden sheath in her boots.

“Naishe?”

In one swift movement Isabela had the stiletto to his eye and her other hand clenching a fistful of his shirt. She slammed him back into the wall so hard that her arm hurt. Over in the corner, Ianto was looking on with interest. Isabela leveled the stiletto so its tip was poking him in the eyelid and hissed “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

She felt his Adam’s apple bob against her fist. “Tomaz.”

“Who…” She trailed off. Tomaz, Tomaz…oh, _him_.

He was a scrawny youth, with more arm and leg than he knew what to do with. At the hunting parties Luis used to throw, Prince Claudio was a constant feature, and with him he brought Tomaz. Tomaz’s actual status was a bit muddled: Claudio had introduced him variously as a servant, a Crow in training, a relative of a friend. Until this day she hadn’t given him a single thought.

She gripped his shirt with renewed vigor. “Don’t ever, ever call me that. It’s Isabela now.”

He raised his hands. “Isabela, then.”

Isabela lowered the stiletto a little bit, aware that Ianto was still watching. “What did you want?”

“To see if it really was you. Claudio was distraught when Luis died.”

She snorted. “Oh, boo hoo.”

He smiled at her, amused. “I didn’t say I was. Zevran was a friend of mine.”

“Zevran _was_?”

He shook his head. “Not dead, as far as I’ve heard. Just lost touch with him. As far as I know, he’s still in Antiva.”

Isabela glanced sideways. Ianto was half-standing, no doubt hoping to hear everything. Luis and Zevran were sensitive subjects to be discussed so openly in a tavern. Not that anyone in here would think less of her for doing away with a husband – Maker knew most of them had probably done the same to a spouse or two – but the less said about Naishe, the better.

“Your captain’s looking for you,” she said, gesturing. “How’d you end up with him, anyhow?”

“It involved some Crows, an Orlesian spy, a shipwreck caused by abominations and a drunken knife-throwing contest.”

“Is that so?”

“No. Well – except for the knife-throwing.”

She laughed. Very well, he’d have his secrets. “I’ll bet. Well, if you’re not too busy, I’m at the Mermaid most nights.” She looked him up and down. “You’ve certainly…filled out.”

He smiled. “I’d like that.” His voice dropped an octave as he said it. Ooh, shivery.

 

The Mermaid was the most popular tavern in Llomerryn. And because it was in Llomerryn, it was filled with drunken pirates who were happy to stab each other over the last shot in the rum bottle. Isabela liked it so much precisely because of that.

She hadn’t really expected Tomaz to show up, so instead she had found herself a comfortable seat on the bar with a bottle in each hand. The bartender hadn’t been happy with her sitting on the bar, but after she had made it clear she wasn’t moving and was also planning on buying a lot of drinks, he got over it. She was busy shooting sultry glances at the lanky elf with an eyepatch over in the corner when Tomaz walked in.

“Over here!” she shouted, waving one of the rum bottles. He nodded and picked his way towards her.

“Nice of you to drop by,” she said, noticing that while he’d left his shirt open, he also had several daggers concealed around his waist and in his boots. Smart lad.

“Nice of you to get me a bottle,” he replied, swiping the other rum bottle from her. She made a halfhearted grab to get it back, but settled for punching him on the shoulder. “You owe me another one.”

“Finish that one first.” Tomaz gestured to her bottle. She pouted. “What, you don’t think I can do it?”

“Prove it.” Isabela rolled her eyes exaggeratedly, and set the bottle to her lips. He was going down.

 

“ _That’s_ not how the rules work!” Isabela slammed down her hand of cards. “You draw three cards in your second hand.”

“The game’s all about cheating anyway.” Tomaz leaned back in his chair, ran a hand through his hair. “You think I didn’t see that?”

“Sounds like you weren’t…distracted enough.” Isabela leaned forwards, running a booted foot up his leg and towards his thigh. “Maybe you need to loosen up a little.”

Tomaz leaned in too, one hand stealing down to play idly over her knee. His fingers crept up her thigh, towards bare skin. Isabela tilted her head and…

Tomaz’s voice was throaty. “I can see…those cards shoved down your shirt.”

Isabela looked down. “Aww, shit.”

 

She yanked out the dagger from its hiding place down the side of her bodice. “Five! Take another drink!”

Tomaz took a hearty swig from the bottle, and bent over to extract a small stiletto from a hidden compartment in his boot’s heel. “Five here too. Drink up!”

Isabela cursed, and tipped the bottle back. She wasn’t out of this game yet, not by a long shot. She still had the three daggers sewn into her sash, the tiny stiletto she used to pin her scarf to her head, the two throwing knives she kept tucked into her undergarments, and the emergency dagger that was tied to her bodice strings and kept flush against her stomach. And, of course, all the knives she had no intention of showing him.

“ _Fifteen men on a dead man’s chest_ ,” Isabela half-screamed, half-sang. She kicked off her boots and jumped barefoot onto the table, swinging a bottle of rum around and inadvertently splashing the audience.

“ _Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum_ ,” Tomaz bellowed. Isabela pointed at him with her bottle. “You said rum! Everybody take a drink!”

“ _You_ said rum!” Tomaz said in return, looking idiotically pleased with himself. Then – “aww, shit.” The audience applauded, pirates swigging beer and rum and shouting out the next line. “ _Drink and a demon had done for the rest_!”

“ _Yo…ho…ho…and…a…bottle…of…rum_!” Isabela blasted out, holding each word for as long as she could. As she fell off the table she thought: _I sound damn good_.

 

When the itch hits, it hits _hard_.

Halfway up the stairs to her room, Isabela whirled – really, the whole staircase was whirling – and pinned Tomaz against the wall. He tangled his fingers in her hair, yanking off the bandana, and she heard the distinctive rip of fabric. She’d be mad at him for that later, she thought distantly, but right now she didn’t give a damn. He was sloppy and she wasn’t much better, their mouths that tasted like rum clashing together. His hands ran up and down her torso, found the strings on her bodice, tugged indiscriminately. As her bodice loosened, cards spilled down, sticking to the floor that was gluey with dried alcohol. He laughed into her mouth. “You damn cheat.”

“Guilty,” she said, his breath warm against her teeth. They were taking too long to get back to her room, as far as she was concerned. She pulled on his arm, dragging him along bodily to her room, where she slammed the door. He took advantage of her distraction to grab her around the waist and throw her on the bed, following her down.

“Uh uh,” Isabela said. She hooked one leg around his hip and pushed off with her free arm, flipping him onto his back. Tomaz’s surprise was evident in his face, and she laughed at him. “I got one rule, sweet thing.” She pressed her full weight down on him, rubbing against his trousers. Oh, that was a good feeling. Those had to come off soon. “I’m always on top.”

He managed a smirk. “Rules are made to be broken.”

“Ooh. I’d love to see you try.”


	3. Chapter 3

She discovered that the Armada transported slaves about a week later.

Tomaz was introducing her to Ianto’s ship, the _Sea Serpent_. He was doing his best not to show her any weak spots, and she was equally doing her best to discover exactly where she’d have to hit to take the ship.

“What are you shipping?” she asked curiously. The Serpent was leaving in a few days, once the ship was fully provisioned. The boat smelled bad and she could hear rustling from below, so she assumed there was livestock in the cargo hold.

He shot a sideways glance at her, eyes wider than usual. “It’s…slaves.”

Involuntarily, she stepped back. “I didn’t know you shipped slaves.”

“Well…” he paused. There wasn’t anything he could have said that wouldn’t sound stupid in reply, she understood. _Surprise_! Or _yeah sure, why, you have a problem with that_?

She saved him the time. “No, I got it. I’ll see you later. Ianto would probably have your skin if he knew I was on his ship.”

He said something, but it was lost as she ran upstairs, back to fresh air and sunlight.

 

When a couple was reunited, other people might go for a walk on the beach in the moonlight. Perhaps the man would buy flowers, and the woman would blush and giggle and keep at least a foot of space between them both, except for a stolen kiss here and there.

Isabela and Tomaz started a bar fight.

When asked about it later, Isabela fingered Tomaz. After all, he was the one who was pretending he knew how to juggle rum bottles. She claimed he was trying to impress her. He claimed it was a secret plot to get her to buy his drinks. Either way, it was undisputed that one of the rum bottles went flying when Tomaz was unable to catch it, and struck an unsavory fellow named Cadiz, whom everyone knew as a failed smuggler.

Accounts varied after that. Isabela saw Cadiz knocked to the floor, his nose crunching against the wooden planks, and his friend rising up from his chair to pitch the bottle back. Tomaz claimed that Cadiz hadn’t been hurt _that_ badly (not that he would’ve cared if he was, the sour old greybeard) and had thrown the bottle at Tomaz. Other patrons said they saw completely different people get hit, were hitting others, and after a point it didn’t matter. It was a full-on brawl and there was nothing quite so invigorating as brawling with rum running through your veins.

Isabela had just finished putting a brawny Free Marcher on the ground when she heard a familiar Antivan accent at her shoulder. She whirled around, to find Zevran smirking at her as he tripped up a Rivaini pirate and stole the poor man’s whiskey.

“Fancy seeing you here, my dear,” he said, sipping daintily from it, as though he were sitting in the Antivan palace.

“Zevran!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms around his neck and bussing him on each cheek.

“Funny how the world works.” He ducked to one side as a knife came hurtling through the air, not even spilling a drop of his drink. “I came here to Llomerryn after a target, and just so happened to hear that the Mermaid is the best tavern in town. And look who’s here.”

“Is the target still around?”

He threw her a patronizing look. “Please, my dear. I don’t drink on duty.”

She laughed. “In that case, we’re celebrating.” She caught a glimpse of Tomaz as he leaped onto a table, and waved at him. “Tomaz! Hey! Look who it is!”

He wiped a dagger clean and shoved it into its sheath. “Uh oh, you’re here.” He grinned at Zevran and pulled him into a hug. “Long time, no see.”

“He just finished a job for the Crows, so we’re celebrating,” Isabela explained. She glanced at the bar, which was buried in pirates kicking, thrashing and biting. “…Maybe we’ll celebrate somewhere else. I’ve got a room upstairs.”

Tomaz blinked. “You want another -”

“The more the merrier, right?”

He nodded quickly. “Yeah. For sure.” His lips drew back over his teeth, but the smile only went that far.

 

Isabela accepted a contract from Ianto to smuggle lyrium from Ferelden suppliers to the Antivan Circle, avoiding the heavy taxes that the Chantry, Ferelden, Antiva, any port that the ship docked in and any navy ship that they ever encountered would levy on a lyrium merchant. Ianto’s ship was already spoken for by Devon, a wealthy slave trader, but Ianto was loath to turn down a lyrium smuggling offer. They agreed to split the profits evenly, which Isabela normally wouldn’t be happy about, but lyrium was such a lucrative cargo that fifty percent of the profits from it were worth all the profits from another cargo.

Even better, Ianto sent Tomaz along to keep an eye on her.

“You better do your job thoroughly,” she told him, as the Siren’s Call’s sails billowed and she guided the ship out of Llomerryn’s harbor.

He chuckled. “Oh, trust me. I may not ever let you out of my sight.”

There was no incident on the way to Ferelden, no incident picking up the cargo from several shady dwarves on the docks of Jader at night. No incident sailing back along the Waking Sea. In fact, it was so uneventful that Isabela was made nervous by it. She had only smuggled lyrium a few times, and had nearly lost the _Siren’s Call_ each time.

Some malevolent god clearly heard her, because as they put in to a small bay in the Vimmark Mountains to restock, Tomaz came sliding down from the crow’s nest to report a raider’s sail coming around the point.

Isabela dashed to the rail and squinted into the dusk. The ship’s sails were edged in red, which meant it was Grace O’Day, also known as Red. Anyone who thought that the nickname was too common shortly discovered why Grace was called Red; her red hair was matched only by her constantly blood-soaked blades. Tadeus had asked her several times to join the Felicisima Armada, and she had always refused, preferring a completely lawless, independent life. Isabela had been curious to meet her, but with her ship helpless in the bay and loaded with precious lyrium, she wished that Grace O’Day were on the other side of the Marches.

Casavir came up beside her. “Do we run?”

Isabela turned away from the rail. “No. It wouldn’t do any good, she’s going to cut us off anyway.” She drew her daggers. “We’ll fight.”

Tomaz drew his own. “You know her reputation,” he said in a low voice. Isabela winked at him, feigning nonchalance. “What, you don’t know mine?”

He reluctantly laughed and swept her a deep bow. “Aye aye, Queen of the Eastern Seas.”

In the short time that it took Grace’s ship to draw up alongside the _Siren’s Call_ , Isabela’s crew was assembled on deck and bristling with weaponry. It was too dark to see the figures on Grace’s ship clearly, but it was enough to see them swarming the rigging with ropes, getting ready to swing over. Isabela kept her hand low, waiting till the shapes became clearer to deploy her archers. As they became more distinct, she lifted her arm. “Fire!”

Arrows whizzed over her head, many of them missing their targets. Isabela cursed Grace O’Day. If she knew anything about the woman’s reputation, she had probably been shadowing them all day, waiting for her opportunity to get them cornered in the dark. But several arrows hit home, and she spotted men dropping from the rigging lifeless to the deck. “Fire at will!”

It wasn’t long before Grace’s men returned fire, and they were forced to take cover, which impeded her men’s ability to shoot back. When the first of Grace’s men dropped onto her deck, Isabela flung down a miasmic flask and disappeared into it, reappearing behind one of them to knife him in the back. Tomaz followed suit, and the deck was soon veiled in smoke until Isabela herself was finding it difficult to reach her targets. She memorized the locations of men that she had seen last, finding her way by muscle memory over her familiar deck to slit the throats of men who had the balls to try and take _her_ ship.

Until Tomaz let out a cry and an unfamiliar woman’s voice shouted “Stop! Isabela, come out. Playtime’s over.”

Isabela slit one more throat for good measure, then stalked to the bow, where the air was clearer. Once people stopped throwing miasmic flasks, the smoke began to dissipate, and she spotted flaming red hair. Flaming red hair on a woman whose knife was currently at Tomaz’s throat.

Isabela balanced her knife, ready to throw. “Put that away.”

Grace looked up at Isabela. She was a beautiful woman, someone Isabela would have been interested to know if she weren’t trying to take over the damn ship. Her eyes were bright blue and her hair was as red as everyone said it was. Grace’s lips curled in a smile utterly devoid of any happiness. “Not a very friendly welcome, Queen of the Eastern Seas.”

“I didn’t get to where I am by being chummy,” Isabela replied. She itched to throw the knife, but Grace’s face was far too close to Tomaz’s. “You weren’t coming on board to serve me tea.”

“What are you smuggling?”

“None of your damn business.”

Grace twitched the knife. Tomaz grimaced, and blood seeped down her blade. Grace looked at it with some satisfaction. “It’s such a waste when a knife isn’t red.”

“You think he matters that much?” Isabela asked, simultaneously praying that Grace wouldn’t push it. “Perhaps he doesn’t,” she acknowledged. “But if he doesn’t, then I slit his throat right here and now, and then we keep on fighting till every last one of your men is dead. Then I kill you. I take your cargo, and I fire your ship. Or…you tell me what you’re shipping. If I’m right, it’s lyrium. Nobody else dies, I take your cargo, I leave you with your lives and your ship. Your choice.”

Isabela could feel her pulse thudding against the heavy gold necklace. “I’m…smuggling lyrium.”

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Grace pushed Tomaz down to the deck, where he landed hard on hands and knees. “Boys, go down and get that.” She strolled up the deck towards Isabela, who pointed the dagger at her chest. “That’s close enough.”

Grace put her hands up in a mockery of surrender. “No hard feelings, then?”

Isabela leaned in, keeping the dagger between her and the other woman. “If you had duelled me, I would have killed you.”

Grace looked down at the dagger. “I’m glad we didn’t have to find out, then.”

“Someday, I will find you,” Isabela promised her. “That day, I’ll take your cargo, I’ll take your rum, I’ll take those pretty little jewels you have hanging around your neck. And then I’ll ask you if you have no hard feelings.”

The pirate woman laughed, a confident, seductive laugh. “In that case, perhaps I should take those earrings of yours right now. As insurance.”

Isabela’s lips quirked. “You can try.”

“It’s a shame you’re with the Armada,” Grace said as she turned away. “Otherwise, I might have liked you.”

 

Ianto was furious.

He was pleased and all that they were alive, blah blah blah. But Isabela had lost the lyrium! Did she have any idea what that was worth? And she had lost it to Grace O’Day, which stung worse than anything, because there was nothing that Grace liked more than humiliating the Armada. Isabela owed him for that lyrium. She owed him twice over, she owed him thrice over, because she had lost him his good reputation of always getting smuggled goods in and on time. The Antivan Circle wasn’t going to buy from him now, no dwarves in Jader would ever sell to him again.

Isabela stood there, a calculated expression of boredom on her face. It wasn’t anything that she hadn’t said to herself on the way back to Llomerryn, cursing the bad luck and the damned soft feelings that had led her to spare Tomaz and lose the lyrium. Tomaz had tried to speak to her several times on the way back, but she was in such a black mood that she doubted anything he could say or do (and that included that clever little thing with his tongue) could cheer her up.

“…and if you don’t pay me back soon, there won’t be a single person in Thedas who will ever hire you. You’ll have to be like Grace, raiding by yourself, and when you get caught by the Orlesian navy – and you will! – there won’t be a single Armada man who will be sorry…”

Suddenly, Tomaz butted in. “Hey, Captain.” He laid a hand on Ianto’s arm. “I was there. Listen to me. It was bad luck. Actually, it was my fault. She would’ve had them off the _Siren’s Call_ or dead if it weren’t for me.”

Ianto turned his black gaze on Tomaz. “Explain, boy.”

“Grace got me.” He tilted his head back to show the scar on his throat. “She held me hostage until Isabela agreed to give her the lyrium.”

“It wasn’t like that!” Isabela cut in. Maybe she didn’t want to see Tomaz take the fall, maybe she didn’t want Ianto to think she was that easily defeated, maybe she truly thought it wasn’t like that. She didn’t have time to think about why, and when Ianto glanced back at her, she had to keep going. “Grace has more men than I do. She would’ve killed Tomaz, and then killed the rest of my men and fired the _Siren’s Call_. I can pay you back if I have my ship, but without that I’ve got nothing.”

Ianto stepped towards her, scrutinizing every twitch of her face. She met his gaze defiantly. Let him think what he wanted. “That’s what happened?”

“Yeah. Now can you let me go? I have things to do.”

“The whores at the Mermaid don’t count as ‘things’,” he said, but he waved her away. As she walked out, heart pounding, she heard Tomaz running after her. Once she felt his breathing at her ear, she whipped around and pinned him to the wall. “Why’d you do that?”

“Do what?” He pushed off from the wall so she had him by the collar and their bodies were pressed together. “I told him the truth.”

“Part of it,” she scoffed. “The way you told it sounded like Grace was holding my lover hostage, rather than Ianto’s spy.”

“That’s all I am to you?” He put a hand to his heart. “Oh, Isabela, you wound me.”

The gesture and tone were mocking, but there was something underlying it; his eyes were too wide and earnest, rather than the lazy slits they became when he was truly joking. She turned away rather than have to meet them. “I need to figure out a way to pay Ianto back. Lyrium isn’t cheap, damn Grace O’Day to the Void.”

Tomaz cleared his throat. “I have an idea, if you’re not too picky about the company you keep.”


	4. Chapter 4

The company Tomaz kept turned out to be Devon, the wealthy slave trader. Isabela presented a calm and equable face to Tomaz when he suggested it, but in her cabin she paced up and down the deck, arms wrapped around her stomach, shivering and shaking and wanting to throw up. On her desk, the papers sat side by side. A slaver’s list: names and places and short descriptions, as though they were listing breeding horses rather than people. Next to it, Ianto’s reckoning of what she owed him after she lost the lyrium; too much, far too much. The sight of both papers was too much. She slapped them both facedown and went to the windows, watching the waves lap at the other boats anchored. Her eyes burned – burned like brands, hot iron that she’d seen pressed into people’s skin at slaving markets in Tevinter.

_Salt in your eyes. From the seawater_.

She does not cry.

Impatiently, she pushed away from the windows and almost fell into her desk’s chair. She opened desk drawers one after another, her movements jerky and frantic. The quill is of course in the last drawer of the desk. She scrawled her signature on the slaver’s manifest. Ink splattered her arms and a few droplets landed on her lip. She wished it were rum.

“Tomaz?”

 

At first sight, she didn’t like Devon. He was handsome enough, with cropped brown hair and the sort of beard that looked like it tickled in all the right places. But his eyes were deadened, and Isabela had long ago learned to check a person’s eyes first. He toured the _Siren’s Call_ , running his hands over her ship as though he owned it. Once he’d gone over every inch, he turned to her and offered a price to transport elven slaves to Minrathous. They were all in Llomerryn already, so the job would be easy, he promised. Devon would pack them in himself, and Isabela need never see them if she didn’t want to.

The price was smaller than she’d hoped for, and the number of slaves more than the _Siren’s Call_ could easily transport. But neither was unworkable, and after some deliberation, Isabela agreed.

“If you don’t want to do it, you’ve got the fastest ship I’ve seen,” Tomaz said quietly. His hands were curled loosely around the rail of the _Siren’s Call_. “I know I suggested this, but it’s not for everyone. If you wanted to just get away…”

Isabela shook her head at him. “I do what I need to so I survive. Consciences are for people who live in fancy houses.”

“I just thought if it -” Tomaz stopped abruptly. “It’s no matter. Well…you know where I sleep. See you when you get back.” He attempted to flash a grin at her, although for a man so well-versed in the art of sexy grins, it was a poor attempt.

Isabela watched him walk down the docks, disappearing into the market’s crowds. _It’s not for everyone_ was a funny way of putting it. As though slavery was a particularly pungent Rivaini dish, which you could taste or refuse at your leisure, and had nothing at all to do with destroying lives and families.

She waved at her crew, signalling the first of the slaves to be brought aboard. The first slave was an elf, with long drab brown hair reaching halfway down her back. The woman’s eyes were cast down, and a chunk of one of her ears was missing.

_Don’t cry. Her mother slapped her across the face, knocking more tears loose from her eyes. You are a disobedient girl who does not know her place. You’d have certainty in life if you were less stubborn. You’re fit for nothing. Selling you for a goat and six sovereigns is robbery from Luis._

_I do what I need to so I survive_. Didn’t she?

 

They had been sailing for two days when Casavir came up behind her. “Captain, there’s an Orlesian navy ship two points off starboard.”

“Shit.” Isabela jumped up on the railing, holding tight to the rigging. It was almost impossible to disguise what she was doing – the _Siren’s Call_ was by now recognizable to any naval authority, and the stench of transporting slaves reached miles over the ocean. She leaped down and rapped out orders. The ship swung to port, and she raced up to take the wheel. “Run out the oars,” she snapped. “I’m not losing this boat to any Orlesian dandies.”

The wind was at her back for once, but the Orlesian ship was a fast galley, and now that she looked hard, two more Orlesian ships were coming up behind it. “Shit, shit, shit,” she muttered, teeth clenched.

Normally, Tomaz was right. The _Siren’s Call_ would outrun any ship on the Eastern Seas. But Devon had packed the slaves in like crates, far too many to her hold. She growled at the thought. Serious words would be had. Preferably with daggers involved. The _Siren’s Call_ was sitting too low in the water to be the fast, maneuverable ship she had outrun countless navy ships in. Although her men were pulling hard on the oars, the Orlesian ships were gaining.

Her hands gripped the wheel so hard that her knuckles turned white. At this rate, the Orlesian ships would be pulling alongside her in an hour. She’d heard of the treatment that was meted out to pirates by Orlesian authorities. Out of some twisted sense of justice, or perhaps, a well-thought-out punishment, they liked selling the pirates that shipped slaves into slavery themselves. The luckier pirates found themselves dangling from ropes.

_Naishe, I hope you’re feeling frisky. Luis came through the door, his smug smile set firmly in place. Or even friskier than usual. He laughed, as though he’d made some kind of joke. The Crows are coming to dinner tonight. They want to see what sort of woman you can buy for a goat and six sovereigns these days. Claudio laughed in my face when I said you were better than any bedslave I’d ever bought. He insisted on a demonstration._

_When he left, Isabela snatched the blue bandana she’d bought at the market two days ago and hung it in the window. Tonight, Zevran. I hope you’re ready._

No. She blocked out the memories. Isabela lashed a rope around the tiller and ran down the steps. “Casavir, on deck!”

As her first mate came running up, she fetched the key from her cabin. “The slaves. Throw them overboard. Throw anything else in the hold over, too. We can raid another ship later.” She pressed the key to the hold into his palm. The blackened iron looked like a scar.

“I…yes, Captain.” He turned and barked orders at the crew. “Up on deck! Everything in the hold is going overboard.”

Isabela stayed only a moment longer, to watch that her orders were being carried out, and then dashed back to the wheel. A quick glance behind her and she confirmed that the Orlesian ships were closing in. She gestured to Casavir. “Throw them over starboard. It’ll slow them down.”

Maybe the Orlesian ships will pick them up, she thought, but didn’t say that out loud. The truth was that the chains were too heavy. Most of them would drown before any Orlesian could haul them out of the water.

_Them or you. Them or you._

“What – what are you doing?” Devon sprinted up on deck, staring wild-eyed at the slaves as they were marched towards the starboard side. “Stop at once!”

“Flames to you,” Isabela spat. “Your damn fool idea to pack all those slaves in at once. If those Orlesian ships there catch us, we’ll be lucky to be hanged.”

Devon craned over the side of the boat, spotting the characteristic Orlesian navy flag. His cheeks paled. “Oh Maker.”

Isabela didn’t quite smile, but her mouth quirked with some satisfaction. For a penny she would have thrown him over too, clapped in irons. The sight of him in terror would have to do for now, though.

The scream of the first slave as she hit the water reverberated in Isabela’s ears. With a sharp pang, the pirate realized it would echo in her ears until she died. The other slaves suddenly grasped what was going to happen to them, and they started pushing and shoving in a panic. Her crew struggled with them grimly, knowing it was either the slaves or them. The water around the _Siren’s Call_ grew thick with bodies, thrashing until the sea was foamy white. Their screams built to a crescendo, fear and pain as the slaves hit each other with their chains, either accidentally or on purpose so they could use a body to hold themselves above water. Devon stood at the railing, his eyes wide and lips quivering. Isabela had to turn away; her stomach was heaving.

But the _Siren’s Call_ became lighter and lighter. As the last slave was thrown overboard, her crew raced back down to the oars, and Isabela angled the tiller just enough that the sails billowed to their fullest extent with wind. The sound of creaking wood as the ship sped up was music to her, though every few moments as they accelerated she heard a sick, meaty _thud_ and knew one of the oars had just struck a slave.

 

Isabela had one hand wrapped around Devon’s neck, a drawn dagger in the other. She marched him down the gangplank at the docks of Llomerryn, and flung him down hard on the rotting wood. He raised his hands in feeble protest, which rapidly changed to terror as she shoved the dagger under his chin and knelt on his chest.

“Isabela, I swear, I didn’t…”

“Your swearing doesn’t interest me. Your money does.” She emphasized each word with a prod of her knife – soon, the blade was dripping red. “I almost died because of your mistake. My crew almost died. Ninety-eight slaves _did_ die. If you don’t pay up right now, I’ll cut off your balls and all your fingers.”

“M… _my_ mistake? Isabela, it was bad luck, you can’t blame…”

She jammed her elbow into his throat and reached down. “Five…four…three…”

“Fine! Fine!” he yelped, voice hoarse. “For the Maker’s sake, you bitch!”

She eased up on the pressure slightly. “Where’s the money?”

He gulped air. “In my cabin…third plank from the cupboard. Lift it up and the money chest is under that. Let me up, I’ll show you.”

“My mother didn’t raise an idiot.” Isabela raised her voice slightly. “Casavir, got that?”

“Aye aye, captain.” He disappeared below decks and returned shortly with a full chest that jingled noticeably.

“If it’s missing a penny, I come after you.” Isabela got to her feet, letting Devon stagger out from under her. He rubbed at his throat, threw her a fearful look. “That’s stealing. You didn’t get the job done.”

She shrugged. “Pirate.”

 

Tomaz’s room was at the end of the hallway. She didn’t bother cleaning up before she went to see him – if she wanted to be a perfumed lady, there were brothels aplenty in Llomerryn where she could work instead. She threw the door open; Tomaz was asleep on his bed. He was stripped to his trousers, his head flung back among the pillows. She itched to get her fingers curled around his belt and rip it off him. Some sense warned him as she approached the bed; he turned his head, cracked his eyelids.

“Oh.” His smile was heavy with sleep. “It’s you.”

“It’s me.” She didn’t want to talk. She ran her hands across his chest, enjoying the feel of sculpted muscles under her hands. He propped himself up on his elbows and bit her lips, pulling on them lightly. “I didn’t think you’d be back this soon. How did it go?”

“Shush,” she whispered into his mouth. “Shush.” Her fingers hooked his belt, deftly pulling it loose. She worked his trousers down, moving downwards with them. When she glanced back up, his face was puzzled, but indulgent. “What are you up to, Isabela?” he murmured.

All at once she got tired of moving slowly. She kicked off her boots, straddled his hips. When he opened his mouth to speak again, she bent down and stopped the words with her lips. She wasn’t gentle; she licked and she bit till her mouth was filled with the taste of him, and he was gasping into her, his hands gripping her hips like broken spars in a shipwreck. Her fingers were wound and clenched in his hair, and his pain was her pain. Sparks danced across her eyes, sparks that expanded and contracted like waves, like foam on waves kicked up by dying swimmers. With effort, she shut her mind down, focusing only on their breathing together. The gasping, choking sounds of their breath anchored her until she came, flying apart and piecing back together around him.

As she rolled off him, he managed to get enough breath back to open his damned mouth again. “Maker, Isabela…what happened?”

She waited till she stopped gasping for air. Then she pushed off his bed and walked towards the door. At the doorframe, she turned back. “I have Ianto’s money for him. I’ll bring it by tomorrow.”

He shook his head, chunks of dark hair sticking to his forehead. “I don’t give a damn about Ianto. I want to know that you’re all right.”

Isabela thought that she had put up enough walls around her heart. Well, the past few days had been nothing but proving her wrong. “I’m fine,” she mumbled, and turned to go.


	5. Chapter 5

Ianto was pleased with the repayment, or at least as happy as a bloodthirsty raider could ever be. Isabela avoided Tomaz for the next few days. She didn’t want to see his damned concerned face at her shoulder, didn’t want to hear his soft question, “Isabela?”

With Ianto repaid, Isabela was clear of debt, but she was still broke. After having drunk away the last little bit of coin she had at the Mermaid, she headed down to see an Armada man, Castillon. Castillon shipped cargo from all over Thedas, but he didn’t like getting his hands dirty personally. Instead, he hired raiders to escort his ships, keeping the veneer of a legal merchant while also being involved in everything from smuggling to developing new poisons, his personal hobby.

“Ah, the Queen of the Eastern Seas,” Castillon exclaimed as Isabela came in. He half-stood from his desk and gave her a little mocking bow. “Looking for work? I can’t say any merchant would be happy to trust you with cargo again. You might throw it in the sea.”

“Keep that up and we’ll find out if you’ve been taking swimming lessons.” Isabela sat down across from him. “Any cargo ships you need an escort for?”

Castillon shuffled through his papers. “I can’t pay you as much as other raiders. Risk is higher, I’m sure you understand that.” He paused to throw her a sly gaze. Isabela had to control the urge to slice his smirking lips off. “But that’s good for you because I’m a cheap bastard, and I never turn down a deal.” His finger ran down a list of ships, stopping at one. “Here. I need a raider to escort a cargo ship from Ferelden to Tevinter.”

“That’s a long ways to ship cargo.” Isabela tipped her chair back. “What is it?”

Castillon shrugged. “Wood, furs, minerals. The only reason Ferelden exists is so that more enlightened countries can profit from it. The point is, I need a raider, and you need a job. Well?”

Isabela pretended to deliberate, but she already knew she’d take it. She needed the money desperately. “I’ve got it.”

 

At the docks of Gwaren, Isabela met Castillon’s man overseeing the loading of the cargo ship, a man called Hayder.

“All the cargo is on board now,” he said, pacing up and down the docks. “As soon as your men are ready, we’ll cast off. Here’s the captain of the _Sweepstake_.” A burly Ferelden, by the looks of him, nodded to her.

Isabela sniffed the air. Something smelled…off, something like refuse and a sharper, more distinct smell under it. “What is that?” Hayder glanced at the _Sweepstake’s_ captain. “Damn ship was transporting animals last. Still can’t get the smell out.”

She nodded slowly. The smell of refuse was right, but there was still that odd, sharp smell that didn’t match up with any animal she’d ever shipped before. “I’m ready to go.”

Hayder waved her off. “Good luck, then. I’m riding overland to Denerim, meeting some business contacts of Castillon. Get them safe to Tevinter.”

As Isabela walked up the gangplank to the _Siren’s Call_ , Casavir took her arm and drew her to one side. “Captain, I don’t think they’re transporting rocks or wood. Stand over here.” He led her to a spot downwind of the _Sweepstake_. The smell was much worse here, and if Isabela strained her ears, she could hear something, a murmuring that wasn’t the slap of waves against the shore, or wind rustling through the trees.

“No, they’re not.” Isabela turned and walked towards her cabin. “We’re getting out to sea, and I’m going to find out what he’s shipping.”

 

They followed the coastline northwards, but were far enough out to sea that the Brecilian Forest was nothing more than a smudge on the horizon. By the time two days were past, Isabela was almost positive that the _Sweepstake_ had more people aboard than just the crew. She saw their crew taking buckets downstairs, filled with some oaty mixture, and bringing up slop buckets which they emptied overboard.

“I’ve shipped people before,” Isabela said to Casavir. “There’s no way that’s not what they’re doing. Animals don’t use slop buckets.”

Casavir nodded. “Why did Castillon lie to you about it?”

“Maybe he thinks I make a habit of throwing slaves overboard.” Isabela turned back to the _Sweepstake_ , watching it with narrowed eyes. She could see it now. A ship’s hold was cramped and dirty at the best of times. Judging by the amount of food that was going down into the hold, there were dozens upon dozens of slaves down there, probably crammed together so tightly that they couldn’t sit down. She imagined the heat, slaves gasping for breath, unable to gain any relief in sleep or wakefulness.

_She scratched at the door till her nails were gone, her fingertips were bloody. I’ve been in here for days, Luis! she screamed at the wood, knowing that he wasn’t around to hear and wouldn’t care if he did. I’m sorry I…she trailed off. She wasn’t going to apologize for humiliating him in front of his guests, he damn well deserved it._

_But Luis was good at breaking people. Another day in the heat and she apologized, she had her forehead to the floor. His hands, cool and soft, were under her chin and kissing away her tears, muttering endearments as sweet as the poison that men willingly drink because it tastes like nectar, it tastes like honey and they don’t know that in its sugary flavor resides death._

Isabela turned back. “Casavir, get the men on deck. We’re going over.”

The _Sweepstake_ was always meant for a cargo ship, and the sailors on board were picked for their ability to keep a ship afloat in a storm, not to fight off a raider. That was what Isabela was here for. _Whoops_ , she thought, as she swung over to the _Sweepstake’s_ deck, landing as lightly as a cat. The captain came forwards. “Isabela? What…” His voice trailed off as she put a knife to his throat.

“Your men sit over there,” she said, gesturing to the bow. “My men will keep an eye on them, and I’m going downstairs to have a look at these…furs of yours.”

“They’re not valuable!” he protested, his Adam’s apple bumping against the knife. Then he seemed to realize how stupid he sounded. “I mean…they are valuable, but they’re not, really, I don’t think they’d be…for you.”

“Oh, shut up.” She knocked him over the head and he slumped to the deck, out cold. “Ishmal, get these bumbling idiots over there. Take ten men and keep a close eye on them. Casavir, come with me.”

Her men burst into a flurry of activity. Isabela descended the stairs. The stench was so strong she had her arm across her mouth and nose. The sharp smell was something she recognized now; the smell of fear.

The hold was not lit, and the planks were caulked with tar, so it took a while for Isabela’s eyes to adjust to the dark. When they did, shapes emerged in parts. A pointed ear here. A child’s hand there, still clinging to what might have been a rag doll once. A man’s cheek, scarred and pitted.

“Slaves,” Casavir said, plucking a torch from the wall and lighting it.

“Where did Castillon pick you up from?” Isabela asked. In Ferelden, slaves were harder to obtain than anywhere else. Too far from Tevinter to make shipping them worth it, the culture too intolerant of the practise.

“We were fleeing the Blight,” one elf explained, his voice cracked from disuse. “Castillon offered us a ship to Llomerryn. We paid him for it.”

Isabela sucked air through her teeth. “Right. Casavir, get the key.”

Her first mate was back up and down in a moment. “The Ferelden is swearing he’ll see you eviscerated.”

Isabela put a hand to her forehead in mock horror. “Oh no, I should rethink this whole thing.” She inserted the key into the elf’s padlock and unsnapped his handcuffs. “Help me out, here.”

Between Isabela, Casavir, and the elf, they managed to unlock the slaves’ chains quickly. She led them all to the upper deck, where the crew and the Ferelden captain were sitting with their hands on their heads. When the other captain spotted her, he let loose with a torrent of abuse. Isabela had to admire his vocabulary.

After some deliberation, she decided to avoid dropping the ex-slaves in Denerim. It would be too easy for Hayder to pick up their trail, and by extension, hers. Of course Castillon and Hayder would hear about what she’d done soon enough, but she wanted to be far out of their reach when they did so. Instead, she found a good spot on the Brecilian coastline to release the slaves, after stripping the crew of money, clothes and food, which she redistributed among the slaves.

“So you think it’s justice for me and my men to be left without anything?” the Ferelden captain spat at her as they watched the ex-slaves recede into the Brecilian forest. The elf that had first spoken to Isabela, a Dalish who had left the fold, turned back and waved to her. She waved back, then turned to the Ferelden captain. He glowered at her, his thick eyebrows pulled so low over his eyes she could barely see them.

“Justice doesn’t come into it,” Isabela replied. “I just think it’s funny.”

She ended up dropping them in Amaranthine on her way to Estwatch, an island controlled by the Felicisima Armada. “And because I don’t think you treat her very well, I’m taking the _Sweepstake_ too,” Isabela explained. The Ferelden had tried to punch her for that, but she ducked and shoved him onto the docks, yanking up the gangplank as she pulled away. She blew a kiss at him as the Siren’s Call began to drag the _Sweepstake_ out of the harbor, and particularly enjoyed the murderous look in his eyes.


	6. Chapter 6

Estwatch was home to Little Llomerryn, a town built in homage to the city of lawlessness. On the one hand, Isabela thought, Castillon would have people here, but on the other hand, Little Llomerryn was the sort of place that she could disappear into and not be found for days. At least until she found out what Castillon wanted for the loss of the slaves; she had no delusions that he wouldn’t be itching to murder her as soon as he finds out. She sold the _Sweepstake_ as soon as she arrived, and with her pockets clanking with gold, she went to find the nearest tavern, badly in need of a strong drink, a muscled lad and a busty tavern wench. Preferably all at once.

In her favorite Little Llomerryn tavern, the Siren’s Rest, she had the first need taken care of at once. The barkeeper recognized Isabela, and poured her a draft of whiskey as soon as she walked in. “All hail the Queen of the Eastern Seas,” he said, chuckling a bit. “How’re you doing?”

“Damn near perfect,” Isabela said, and took a long swig of the whiskey.

“Isabela!” She whipped around at the sound of his voice. Tomaz was striding towards her, open delight on his face. “What are you doing here? I thought you’d be gone for another few weeks at least. How did you get to Tevinter and back that fast?”

He’s an idiot, she thought. “Oh come on, I didn’t.”

He paused, tilted his head slightly. “What?”

“I, ah, terminated my contract. Long story.” “I’ve got time. Why don’t you buy me a drink and tell me?”

“Damn pirate,” she said, motioning for another whiskey and tossing a coin across the bar. Drink clutched in hand, she picked her way across the crowded bar and settled at a table that was behind a pillar. She didn’t want anyone overhearing.

“So what happened?” he asked as he slid into the chair opposite hers.

“They weren’t transporting fur and wood,” she said summarily. “It was slaves. I could tell after a few days with them. They were refugees fleeing the Blight. Castillon promised them safety, but he took their money and sold them into slavery.”

He swirled the dark liquid in his glass, studiously avoiding her gaze. “But…”

“Yeah, but I drowned a few dozen helpless slaves just a little while ago. Shout louder, I’m not sure everybody heard you. There might be some innocents in Seheron who didn’t hear the story.” She was being unfair to him and she knew it. But she couldn’t explain how she _knew_ that she had to free Castillon’s slaves, that since the day she had thrown chained elves into the ocean, everything had felt wrong and this one action had been the only thing that felt so very right.

He finally lifted his eyes to hers. His sea-blue eyes were a little blurry now, bending and refracting light at the edges. “So what did you do?”

“I released them. Took the _Sweepstake_ and let them all go into the Brecilian forest. The crew I dumped at Amaranthine.”

He suddenly reached for her hand across the table. She had both of them cupped around her whiskey, so he ended up holding her hands around a glass of cheap alcohol. It seemed somehow fitting.

“I’m proud of you, Isabela.”

“Maker, spare me,” she said, reflexively falling back into her mocking tone. “I already have one mother.”

“I mean it,” he insisted. “You’re a good woman.”

“If I am, I went wrong somewhere.”

“Stop it.”

“What?” She resorted to playing dumb.

He put one hand under her chin and tipped it upwards with his finger. “Making everything a joke. Some things aren’t.”

She bats his hand away. “No. You’re right. But what you’re going on about is a joke. It’s a joke that will always fall flat.”

“I love you.”

There it was.

Isabela sighed, putting her palms flat on the table. “No, you don’t. You love some idea of me. You love the idea of Isabela, but you can’t share your life with me. You care too much.”

“Love is all about caring. If I didn’t care, I wouldn’t love you.”

“I wish you didn’t.”

“Why? Because you’re scared of what it means? You’re scared of having someone care about you? You’re scared that they’ll care, and you’ll care, and you’ll disappoint them in the end?”

She slapped him across the face. Isabela was stronger than most women, than most men for that matter, and Tomaz’s head snapped back. “Maybe you’re right,” she hissed, rising from her chair. “Maybe I will disappoint you in the end. When you find out that I can’t care, not the way that you want me to.”

She slammed down the rest of her whiskey, savoring the way it burned down her throat. Storming through the patrons, she pushed her way out and found it was raining. She hunched up, wrapping her arms around her middle, and splashed down the alley. The rain was nice. It helped her pretend that the slick on her cheeks was from rain, that it was freshwater rather than salt on her skin. She would sleep in her cabin on the _Siren’s Call_ tonight, because she loved her ship and the ship loved her in the way she liked, the only love she could take: a love that demanded nothing, a love that was unconditional both ways, a love that would not lead only to disappointment and heartbreak at the end.

 

A month later Isabela stood on the bow of the Siren’s Call, swaying effortlessly with the ship’s rise and fall in the waters.

_Get me the Tome of Koslun, Isabela. Castillon finally rose from his desk and walked around to where she stood. Get me the Tome of Koslun and we’ll forget that this ugly little incident ever happened. If you don’t get it, then I consider the daggers of the Queen of the Eastern Seas as my personal cabin decorations._

_Just the daggers? she asked flippantly. I’d part with them for a good price._

_He shook his head, groaned. Damn it, Isabela. I’d almost be sorry to have to cut your head off._

_Tome of Koslun. Got it._

_As she turned to go, Castillon cleared his throat. Oh. Something that almost slipped my mind. Ianto seems to be missing someone. Promising lad. He was a good friend of yours, Ianto thought. Ring any bells?_

_Isabela looked him right in the eye and lied with a clear conscience. Not a one._

As the _Siren’s Call_ groaned and creaked with every billow of the waves, Isabela settled herself on the railing, one hand wound in the rigging. She licked her lips and tasted the sweet, sweet taste of ocean water.

Hers is a ruined, battered and mutilated heart, but she is free.


	7. Chapter 7

“You’ll like this one, Daisy.” Varric settled back in his chair. “No griffons, but it’s got mermaids instead.”

“Does it start with ‘No shit, there I was’?” Isabela asked, leaning against the bar. “Yeah, just pass the bottle this way, Corff…what, you don’t think I’m good for it?”

“I wasn’t here for this one, Rivaini. It’s an old legend.” The dwarf took a deep breath. “There is an island, far to the north. Long ago, there was a woman who lived on this island. She loved the ocean more than anything that was on the island, and she sat every day on the shore.”

“Were there Qunari on this island?” Merrill asked.

“Oh, this was long before the Qunari. Besides, they wouldn’t approve of what she did. Anyway, she’d sit on the shore every day, and say to herself how much she wanted to live in the ocean. But humans can’t breathe in the water. So she wanted to become a mermaid, so she could live in the ocean forever.

“Now, there was a witch who lived on this island. People were afraid to go see her, because she lived in a house surrounded by thorny vines and wild beasts. But everyone knew that she could make a person fall in love with you, or raise your lover from the dead.”

“Did it have to be your lover that she raised from the dead, or could it be anyone?”

“That part of the legend isn’t remembered anymore, Daisy,” Varric said, chuckling. “But let’s say it could be anyone. The point is, she was very powerful, but people were afraid to go see her.

“The woman wanted to be a mermaid so much, though, that she overcame her fear of the witch’s guardians, and set out to go see her. The thorny vines tore at her clothes till they were shreds. The wild beasts attacked her, but the woman was decent with a sword, and she fought them off.”

“Sounds like Aveline,” Isabela interjected.

Varric raised his voice. “Eventually she reached the witch’s door. She banged on the door and shouted for the witch to come out. Instead, the door swung open, but no one was there. The woman was nervous, but she walked inside. She went through room after room, and room after room was empty. The witch was nowhere to be seen. The woman was very disappointed, and she turned back to the front door. As the woman walked towards the door, there was a swish of wind, and the witch appeared before the door.

“‘I’ve come to see you,’ the woman said, after she recovered from her shock. The witch nodded. ‘I already know what you’re looking for.’”

“Blood magic?” Merrill suggested.

“Ancient witch magic,” Varric said, with a straight face. “‘You want to become a mermaid,’ the witch continued. The woman nodded. ‘I’ll do anything.’ “‘We’ll see,’ the witch said. She led the woman through the house again, to a room the woman hadn’t seen before, although she could’ve sworn she had walked through every room. There were shelves lined with books and potions and ingredients. In the middle of the room, there was a cauldron that the woman could have fit into. The witch turned to her. ‘I have a potion that I can use to enchant a dagger. But you’ll have to wield the dagger yourself. You must cut off your legs for a mermaid’s tail to grow. You’ll have to cut out your lungs, and cut slashes in your throat for gills. Are you brave enough for that?’

“The woman swallowed hard. Even in her wildest dreams she hadn’t imagined that this would be the way she could become a mermaid. But she held fast to her wish and said ‘Yes.’

“The witch went and got the ingredients she needed from her shelves, and threw them one after another into the cauldron. The room filled with smoke of all colors and it stank like the Void. But as the woman breathed in, just a little bit, she could smell the salty smell of the sea.

“With the potion finished, the witch took a dagger from the shelves and plunged it into the cauldron, deep enough that the whole blade was coated in the potion. When she drew it back out, the blade was glowing red. ‘Take this to the shore,’ the witch said, ‘and do as I told you. If you have the strength, you will become a mermaid.’

“The woman took the dagger and went down to the shore. There she did as the witch told her; she cut off her legs. It hurt worse than any cut she had ever taken, and she sobbed as she cut through the muscle and bone, but she didn’t falter. As her legs fell away, a tail grew from her torso, a scaly blue tail. She took heart from that and cut open her chest. She grabbed each lung and tore it out, although this hurt even worse than the legs, and as she cut them away, she couldn’t breathe. Gasping for air, she slashed slits in her throat for gills, and flung herself into the ocean.

“The sea was everything she ever wanted, and more. The water was cool upon her skin, and the sunlight in the water was like diamonds scattered through the sea. She could play with the fish for hours upon end. She travelled all the seas, seeing sights that she would never have believed before, and visited every nation from the ocean. She saw all sorts of ships, crewed by all sorts of people. To this day, if you go down to the shore and listen very hard, you can hear her laughter in the waves as they lap on the rocks.”

Merrill sighed into her hands, cupped around her face. “Oh, that’s such a lovely story, Varric. Well, except for the cutting legs off bit, I suppose. Although that’s still lovely, that she was willing to sacrifice that much.”

Varric toasted her. “I aim to please, Daisy.”

“Where’s that legend from?” she asked curiously. “The Dalish don’t have any stories about mermaids.”

“Let’s ask Isabela.” Varric turned in his chair. “Old Rivaini story, isn’t it? Ever heard it before?”

Isabela’s throat was oddly clogged. She seized the whiskey bottle and poured a quarter of it down her throat. Tasted like rat piss, but it did the job. She spluttered and suddenly could breathe again; shot a cocky grin at Varric. “I have indeed, though I think you changed the story up a bit, you sneaky bastard.”

Varric winked back at her.


End file.
